Night Like Another
by MandyQ
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy spent this day as she had every other... but this night something will change.  Written for summer 2007 HP lexicon writing contest. Lucius x Narcissa. TDH compliant. TDH spoiler. One Shot. Please read and review.


DISCLAIMER: I have made no money on this, which is a darned good thing, since it's not altogether mine. I hope no one instsis that I have to be in trouble for having done this since I meant no harm by it and will only profit by a renewed sense of self-worth in having created something... kind of.

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Narcissa Malfoy spent this day much like she had every other in recent memory. She had risen leisurely at half past nine, having no pressing appointments to rouse her any earlier. She'd taken her breakfast in her bed chamber, bathed, and dressed herself, and descended to the conservatory where she could admire the sunlight and amuse herself with the goings-on of the white peacocks in the south lawn that seemed particularly jovial this time of year.

She kept up on her correspondences; what correspondences that came in these days. There was a note from St. Mungo's hospital thanking her for her most recent donation, and a letter from Draco's friend in Ireland wishing her well. All was, of course, not well.

What a whirlwind these weeks had been. Draco was gone. Draco was missing. Draco was dead. Draco was home. Draco had gone again; gone to re-join the order. Blast the order.

Damn the Death Eaters and damn the Dark Lord himself! Oh, he had been good to her once, and she had at first seen his second coming as a blessing; a miracle even. But no more; not since her husband and her son had been taken from her. Now she hated Lord Voldemort and everything about him; feared him still, but hated him nonetheless.

She finished with her letter writing in time for lunch, for which she had no appetite. But she knew this day as in others that the two elves in her kitchen, Kibbitt and Lollie, would annoy her into repast if she did not partake of such voluntarily. It was only with this as a motivator that she force fed herself tomato soup and toast points at mid day.

Narcissa read for most of the afternoon. She had, of late, discovered tawdry romance novels thanks in no small part to Draco's friend Orinda, who had admitted somewhat of an addiction to the genre. Narcissa had learned that she could waste entire afternoons reading such nonsense and, knowing that she was truly alone and no one would ever be the wiser, had included the reading of these volumes in her regular schedule.

Tea came at half past four as it had every day since she had come to live in Malfoy Manor. And it looked the same and it smelled the same, and was the singular event in her life that she found to be recognizable from its previous and appropriate form. Narcissa always ate well at tea time. Perhaps it was just that she liked biscuits and jam, but she thought it more a function of herself seeking normalcy that she always found that she had an appetite for tea and its accompanying epicure. She would inevitably return to her reading after that.

Having so wasted the afternoon, Narcissa would emerge from the world of her cheap novels in time to descend the grand staircase for supper. She wasn't entirely sure why she had never relaxed the interdiction that suppers retain their longstanding formality; but she never had. Perhaps she could not have been bothered. But more than that, Narcissa guessed that she almost enjoyed the sadness of each evening's meal. Each multi-course affair was to her like a funeral for the life she had intended; the clanking of heavy silver against bone china ringing out a dirge for her glorious past.

And she wasn't always forced to dine alone. Many nights visitors would arrive, uninvited and unannounced, to share her table. There was the ever-cackling Bellatrix, eager to boast about her latest murderous exploits and the portly and paternal Walden MacNair who did his level best to cheer Narcissa out of her torpor. She would not be cheered. As much as she had once dreaded dining alone, she now preferred it to having to sup in the company of Death Eaters; particularly seeing as not one of them would give her any news of her son.

It was only after supper that Narcissa was ever willing to attend to the unpleasant business of the family's finances. Lucius had always handled the paperwork and it had stunned Narcissa early in this period of her husband's absence that she had no real idea how to spend money. Oh, she knew well enough how to rack the bills up, but the business of just how exactly they were paid was another affair entirely; and one that she discovered several glasses of port made much more palatable.

And so on this night, as on many others prior, she sat behind Lucius' enormous desk in the small library and poured over numbers and ledgers, over cheques and statements and reports and receipts, and remained as frustrated and annoyed as the wine would allow. Of course, the wine was half the problem. The bills from Haught and Aristo were the largest by far. Surely she hadn't taken to drinking that much. Narcissa shrugged. More likely it was that Bella and her cronies had imbibed more than their share during their far too frequent visits to Malfoy Manor. And then again, so what if she had taken to drinking to excess; it's not like there was a soul around to give a damn. She shook her head and poured her glass full again.

The night was warm enough, with a slight westerly breeze and a stillness that could only be found in the center of such a large estate. In light of that, Narcissa had seen fit to open the French doors behind the desk to allow in the night air. She rather liked the smell of the dew on the grass in summertime, and the feel of the breeze against the back of her neck was but one further thing to soothe her nerves as she studied the parchments before her. That coupled with the white noise of the ever-flowing fountain in the west garden made it almost possible for her to relax.

_Pop_.

Narcissa sat bolt upright in her seat. The telltale sound of Apparition had startled her to no small degree and she instinctively grabbed her wand from its place next to her on the table. The apparition point on that balcony was a closely guarded secret and it was highly unlikely that any foe might have just arrived there. Still, she pointed her wand at the open doorway as she called out, "Who's there?"

"Only your husband." The reply caused Narcissa's mouth to fall open. That certainly could not be so. But just as her mind was wrapping around that fact, her eyes were suddenly convinced to the contrary. It was so, indeed.

As he came into the light, Narcissa became instantly certain that it was, in fact, her husband who was standing before her. His hair was matted, but smooth on top as though he had tried to comb it out with some less than appropriate implement. His eyes looked sunken, dark, and seemed to pain at the light in the room. The clothes he was wearing were not his own, but neither were they the soiled remains of prison stripes. Undoubtedly this suit of clothes had been borrowed, likely from Severus from the look of it. This fact alone concerned Narcissa, as the idea dawned on her that Lucius had lost enough weight to make it possible to not only fit into Severus' things, but to be swallowed by them in such a way that he appeared as a small child trying to wear his father's Sunday best robes.

But none of this could matter much to Narcissa at this moment. She was far too consumed by being in his presence. "You…" she managed to whisper as she felt her wand fall from her hand. She bit her lip and swallowed hard, considering the possibility of her being able to stand up. Satisfied that she could likely come to her feet without calamity, she did so. Slowly and intently she rose, her eyes never leaving her husband. "Forgive me," she implored, moving toward him with a tentative step, her trembling fingers balling themselves into fists so as to maintain the appearance of control. "I am overwhelmed," she admitted to him, her eyes closing in what she already knew to be a losing battle with the tears she felt welling up there.

"I could scarcely forgive you otherwise," he answered. He was smiling. How was it that Lucius was always able to do that? How was it that he knew just what to say to put her at ease? "And I can only hope, Mrs. Malfoy," he added, "that you can forgive me the same." Narcissa nodded, the movement of her head causing a tear to fall from her eye onto her cheek. On most of the occasions of her life she would never have allowed that, but at this moment the matter of a single tear seemed to be of very little consequence.

Lucius took a slow step toward her, a movement which she echoed, drawing herself near enough to him that she could feel the warmth from his body in the cool air of the night. The last inches between them disappeared in an instant as they both collapsed in to the other's embrace. Narcissa could feel his tears falling onto her hair as surely as her own as they doused her cheeks. "How…?" she whispered to him between sobs. But then, she shook her head and stopped him from answering. "I don't care," she declared, her previous question seeming much less relevant than his arms around her.

"The Dark Lord willed it so," he answered her anyway. "He willed it, and so it is." Narcissa sniffled and nodded.

"Remind me to add him to my Christmas list," she joked, trying desperately to stifle her sobs. She felt Lucius smile into her temple.

"I'll be sure to do that," he said, his arms tightening around her. He inhaled a deep but ragged breath before releasing her from his embrace. His hands moved to her shoulders and his gray eyes looked squarely in to her blue ones. "I've missed you," he told her, his face rising to the sweetest smile she had ever seen.

"Oh Lucius, I…" she couldn't even think of what to say before he interrupted her.

"Shhh, pet," he insisted, his forefinger coming to her lips in a gesture of quiet. "We'll have time," he promised. "We'll have time to talk about everything," he assured. His smile fell and he squared his shoulders. "Later," he added, dropping both of his hands to his sides.

"You're not leaving?" she exhorted. It was half a question and half an insistence. But Lucius nodded his head.

"The Dark Lord demands my attendance," he said to her, his voice clearly betraying his distaste for the thought of departing. "I am free at his pleasure, and so I must do as he wishes… now more than ever I am in his service." Narcissa felt her face screwing itself into a most unbecoming expression as she fought off a fresh volley of sobs which she knew would shortly become uncontrollable. "Not to worry, pet," he consoled, bringing his hands to either side of her face. "I shall return home before sunup, or so I have been told." Narcissa nodded her head and took in a deep breath.

"Be careful," she managed to say, her damp eyes blinking away her tears so that she might see him clearly. Lucius nodded.

"I shall have to be," he affirmed. Narcissa could tell that there was something different about him and she could only wonder as to what might be causing it. "I hope to bring our son home," he added. Narcissa gasped. Could this be? Could she possibly get them both back at once? It was all too much for her head to take in at the moment.

"Go then," she sniffed. "Go then and come home." Lucius brought her face to his and kissed her briefly. Narcissa couldn't stop her tears falling anew at the feeling of his lips and his breath.

"I love you," he told her when he moved away from her again. The words left his lips as though this was new information, something she had never heard, but had to know to survive.

"I love you," she answered him, her own words sounding to her much the same as the first time she had made such a declaration to him more than twenty years prior. Lucius smiled at his wife and moved back toward the doorway. His steps were quick and decisive as he crossed to the apparition point at the far end of the balcony. Narcissa held her breath and listened for the telltale _pop _that signaled his departure.

Once she was certain he had gone, she brought her hands to her face and hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. He was home; or rather, had been. And he was coming back. He would be home before sunup, and perhaps her life could begin again in earnest when morning came.

No matter what the morning brought to her, Narcissa was sure that it would be new and wonderful; or perhaps it would be old and wonderful. Perhaps what she would awaken to would be her life as it had been before with no hint of it ever having been interrupted. No; not as though there had been no interruption, she would likely let Lucius in on her lurid reading habits.

-FIN

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Hope you liked. Please let me know you were by... and THANKS a billion to all of you who have PM'ed measking for more L/N. The muse is biting again! Cheers!!!

-MQ


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